


Brimstone

by CatHeights



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-12
Updated: 2004-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being shot, Keller takes a dark journey that shows him there are worse things than death. Written for the first Secret Identities challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brimstone

  
Keller hissed as Beecher pressed against the bullet wound. Fuck.

Well if you can curse, I think you're going to be fine. Toby's voice sounded shaky, as if he had very little faith in his words.

Shit, yeah. Ain't the first time I've been shot. And that was the truth. It was just, he didn't remember getting shot hurting like this, nor did he remember the pain making it hard to breathe. Then again, he was high as a fucking kite those other times, so that might be affecting his recall a bit.

Chris took a shaky breath and found the effort made him dizzy. I didn't expect to be shot in here, though. He licked his lip, but he couldn't feel his tongue. Can't fucking kiss you without some hack snarling, but a gun, why the fuck not?

The pain seemed to be dulling, that was good. Maybe it was only a scratch. He tried to sit up, but he couldn't move his head. Panic set in as he realized his legs and arms wouldn't move either. He couldn't feel any part of his body.

Chris!

Someone was yelling. Toby? He opened his eyes to see Beecher hovering over him an anxious expression on his face. When had he closed his eyes?

Stay with me, Chris. Everything's over, help's going to be here soon.

_Not soon enough_, he thought, _goddamnit_, _I'm dying_. Keller didn't know where that idea came from, but he knew it was true.

He was dying.

Chris!

He tried to grin, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded. Relax, Beech, Chris said. His voice was barely more than a whisper. I ain't afraid.

As their pod grew darker, and Toby's voice became too faint to hear, it occurred to Chris that he had just told one of the biggest lies of his life  he was terrified.

  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  


Noise was all around him. The sounds of wheels gliding across a floor, clothes rustling, and people talking in sharp tones all blurred and separated, blurred and separated.

_We're losing him._

Losing who? Hadn't he spoken that question out loud? He supposed he hadn't, as no one answered, and now it was too late. The voices were gone. He had fallen too far to hear them, and he continued to fall.

His stomach clenched, and the air was yanked from his lungs as he tumbled downward in a darkness that sought to devour. It grew ever warmer, and his skin began to burn. He twisted in the nothingness seeking to escape the confines of his flesh, but it held on tight. Screams drifted up from the darkness, shrieks that made his ears ache. His back hit something solid, and the substance seared his skin. The screams grew louder, but this time he recognized the sound. It was his voice.

A smooth slab of something landed on top of him. It felt like what was underneath, and it scorched his stomach and side. The pain made him arch up into the heated slab, and more skin fell victim to the unbearable heat. He kept screaming. The pain was unbearable, eternal, but then it was gone.

He found himself on his knees, struggling for breath in the hot, humid air. The air smelt scorched as if years of fire had destroyed any other scents it once carried. Either his eyes had adjusted to the darkness or the world had grown a bit lighter because he could see a row of houses off to the right. Stumbling to his feet, he headed in their direction.

The house on the corner looked familiar, and as he walked closer recognition tightened his overtaxed lungs. This was the house he had grown up in. How could that be? He cautiously drew closer. It had been a piece of shit when he was a kid, and now it appeared abandoned. The windows were shattered, the walls covered in soot, and inside a fire smoldered. He raised his gaze and realized the rest of the block was in a similar condition.

Hello, Christopher. I've been waiting for you.

That voice, he couldn't be hearing that voice. He turned around and felt the scream battering at his throat. No, you're dead.

Last I checked. So what does that make you?

The twisted, cruel smile was just as he remembered, as was the condescending voice, but the rest of his father had greatly changed. His blue eyes glowed red, and his skin was torn and ripped, bits of bone poking through in spots. And christ, he was huge, tall enough to block out the sky.

A large hand slammed into him, and he could feel the bone breaking in his arm. The pain was excruciating. He moved his other arm to cradle the injured one, but he found his hand grasping onto something and twisting. Horrified, he saw that Toby was lying near his feet, and he was breaking his arm.

No, he screamed. He wanted to let go, but his hands wouldn't stop. He could hear the crack of bones shattering underneath his grip. Noooooooo!

Fire ignited a circle around him, and Beecher was gone. He beat at the flames that darkened his skin and tried to curl his body tightly to avoid the painful tendrils. The fire shrunk to glowing embers, and something was once again in his grasp.

He stared at the bowed head that rested beneath his hands, such a beautiful boy. I'm sorry, but I can't let you speak my name, he whispered, and with one quick motion, he snapped that beautiful boy's neck.

The fire was back, and his father was standing over him. Do you know where you are now, Christopher? He laughed fire and his huge feet and hands shattered bones wherever they landed.

DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE? ANSWER WHEN I ASK YOU A FUCKING QUESTION.

I'm dead. I'm in Hell. He wished the words back as soon as he said them for they seemed to solidify the truth.

And you win the prize.

The world dissolved into a cycle of blows, fire, and his father's laughter. Sometimes the blows that crushed bones fell on him, and sometimes they fell from his hands. Just when he was sure this was to be his eternity, he saw a white light. A doorway had appeared. He crawled toward it, desperation helping him fight the agony of movement.

A familiar figure stood in the light. Sister, please, help me.

Her gaze was cold, but it burned just like the rest of Hell. I can't help you, Chris.

I promise, I'll change.

I don't believe you. I can't trust you, Sister Pete said. Besides, even if I wanted to, I can't intercede on your behalf. I've divorced God.

What? You can't do that, divorce God.

Goodbye Chris, she said, and the light began to fade.

No, Sister, please, no. The fire consumed him; no part of his body remained untouched. He screamed for forgiveness, cried out Beecher's name, and begged Sister Pete to return.

_Increase his dosage. His fever should have broke by now._

A voice, he wasn't alone. Help! No one answered, but a wave of darkness swallowed him, and the fires went out.

  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  


He escaped from Hell several times, waking briefly to find himself lying on rough sheets in a silent room, but each time he closed his eyes, Hell pulled him back. One time when he woke to that room with the quietly beeping sounds, Chris asked if he was dead. No one answered, and Hell came for him again.

As the days passed, and he became more aware of his surroundings, his visits to Hell decreased. Sometimes when his eyes slipped closed against his will, he even dreamed of Toby. His hands caressed skin that was comfortably warm, and when he breathed in Toby's scent, it smelled like clean, spring air. Chris felt safe in those dreams.

He began to believe that he would live. For the moment, he had escaped Hell, but he knew it waited for him. Could his fate be avoided? He didn't know.

Chris yearned to return to Oz. He never would have believed he'd yearn for a fucking prison, but Beecher was there, and he needed to see Toby, to feel Toby. Once he was back, at the first possible moment, he was going to pull Toby into his arms, regardless of where they were, and breathe him in. Then he was going to warn Toby. There was no white light when you died, but there was Hell.

After that, he was going to hunt down Sister Pete and ask her forgiveness. Someway, he'd earn her trust back, and then maybe she'd help him. Surely, it would be possible.

His eyelids drooped, and for a second Chris thought he heard his father's laughter. He shivered and fought sleep, but his body was still too injured for him to fight it for long. As he drifted, he turned his mind to Toby and the kiss they had shared on New Year's Eve. It had been a kiss of longing and a kiss of forgiveness. Forgiveness was possible. Toby had forgiven him.

Sleep drowned him, and his father's laughter sounded distantly, but it faded, as memory soothed him with the feel of Toby's lips.

For an hour, he slept, undisturbed.


End file.
